


A Taste of Wormholes

by sabaceanbabe



Category: Farscape
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-06
Updated: 2010-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-09 21:30:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabaceanbabe/pseuds/sabaceanbabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beyond the module's canopy was nothing but black and empty... <em>nothing</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Taste of Wormholes

**Author's Note:**

> written for [](http://kazbaby.livejournal.com/profile)[**kazbaby**](http://kazbaby.livejournal.com/) on the occasion of her birthday. Unbetaed.

Something made John open his eyes. Beyond the module's canopy was nothing but black and empty... _nothing_. Deep space, featureless, the nearest planet light years away and Moya gone God knew where. _Oh, and let's not forget my oxygen's running out_, he thought sourly.

Aeryn had bailed on them (on him) hours ago, D and Jool, Pip and His Frogginess hours before that. And then a frelling wormhole had opened up and swallowed Moya like a bass swallowing a worm on a fishhook.

John laughed, softly at first, but then it grew to an hysterical guffaw. "Damn, son, you're using up what little air you have left," he chided himself, but that just made him laugh harder. _Hell, I'm dead anyway._

A flash of blue light sobered him abruptly. But the flash was just that, a flash with nothing of substance to back it up, a phantom. The electric blue of it had been near the same shade as a wormhole, but there had been none of the tingle in every nerve ending, no faint metallic taste or scent to the air that always accompanied a wormhole. It had always been that way, even years ago when he hadn't known what the hell was happening.

John leaned back, his helmet shifting slightly as his head rested against the back of his seat. The recycled air flowing to the helmet was humid and stale and he could tell that the oxygen was beginning to fail. He was going to die here, in his module, in the middle of nothing, and no one would ever know.

He closed his eyes and wondered how long it would take, if it would be just like falling asleep. Even with his eyes closed, he saw little phantom flashes of light, although they were white now, not wormhole blue. It was harder to breathe than it had been only a few minutes before. He'd had a good eight hours of air when he'd left Moya, but that was mostly gone.

The static in his eyes morphed into a static in his ears, the sound not quite the same as when he'd held a seashell up to his ear when he was a kid, when his dad told him he could hear the sea, if he was very still and concentrated. Well, it wasn't the sea he heard, but crackling static like a radio that picked up a station that was beyond its range.

It wasn't until he'd drifted off into semi-unconsciousness that the static morphed again into something more definite, more recognizable.

"Is there anyone there? Do you need help? We're going to take you on board."


End file.
